“I have my great-grandmother’s diary,” he said. “Sophia started it about five years before she married Salvatore and came here.”

“You’re kidding!”

He shook his head. “I’ve been reading it in bits and pieces. She talks about a lot of things, including Salvatore’s particularly unromantic proposal. When he returned to Italy, he was considered successful. The match was arranged without anyone asking Sophia her thoughts on the matter. She didn’t complain about that in her diary, but she did mention she was eager to see America. At least I think that’s what she said. My Italian is lousy. She could have been talking about the laundry instead.”

Brenna laughed. “I doubt that. Women usually don’t discuss laundry in their diaries. Not that I could tell you for sure. My Italian is worse than awful. Why are you reading her diary?”

“I found it when I was going through my grandfather’s things a couple of years ago. I pick it up from time to time and translate a page or two.” He shrugged. “It’s slow going. Plus I’m a present and future kind of guy, so the past isn’t that interesting to me.”

Brenna’s humor faded. “I’m sorry about your grandfather. I wanted to come to the funeral, but I knew having a Marcelli there would cause a lot of talk and distract from the real purpose.”

“Thanks, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

Brenna raised her eyebrows. “Of course it mattered. He was your family.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

She winced. “I know he was mad before, when you left, but after you came back…” She swallowed. “Didn’t things turn out all right between you? He left you the winery.”

“I’m the only living Giovanni left. Who else would inherit?”

She looked away. Nic thought he read guilt in her body language. She was the reason he and his grandfather had become estranged in the first place. He considered pressing the point, but decided it had been too many years and too many miles. What did talking about all that now matter?

Silence filled the large room. Brenna shifted in her seat, then offered a shaky smile. “How’s Max?”

Nic sipped his coffee. “Good. He’s housebroken, as promised. I’m currently working on his need to chew everything he can find. I also want to get him into an obedience program.”

“Because at least one living creature in your life should come when called?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

Brenna stood and checked the presser.

“When do you get more grapes?” he asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“You’re going to have to put your personal life on hold until harvest is over.”

She laughed. “That would only be a problem if I had one, which I don’t. I’m only interested in getting the winery up and running. Besides, I have my family around if I ever get lonely.”

“You always did, but I was talking about something else. Haven’t you bothered replacing your husband with a boy toy?”

“So not my style.” She tilted her head. “Actually, I don’t know that I have a style when it comes to men, but younger isn’t it. If there were a man in my life, I’d want him to be older. Experienced. What about you? Any potential Mrs. Nic’s around?”

“Not at the moment.”

“So we’re both at romantic loose ends.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then slapped her hand against her forehead. “Forget I said that.”

He would like to, but it was too late. Tension sparked to life, filling the room and getting his attention. A smart man would change the subject, or leave. Funny how he only wanted to explore the possibilities. Playing with fire?

Not fire, he reminded himself. Fire would imply a need and he didn’t have that. Anything he felt was simply mild interest. Blood heated and stirred. Okay, mild sexual interest, but nothing more. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

Brenna turned and moved to check the vat. Somehow Nic found himself on his feet, walking toward her. The smell of the grapes surrounded them, reminding him of all those times they’d made love in the Wild Sea Winery. They’d done it in this very room. Did she remember?

She turned and found him standing next to her. Brenna didn’t jump, but she looked uneasy. He studied her eyes, searching for an awareness that matched his own. He found caution and desire.

“It’s, um, really late,” she said. “You don’t have to stay and keep me company.”

“I know.”

He found himself wanting to push her. Or was he pushing them both? Was he testing to see how much attraction still flared between them? Was he trying to punish her?

“Nic.”

His name lingered on her lips, forcing his attention to her mouth. He reached for her and lowered his head at the same time. She could have backed away, but she didn’t. Instead she stood still as he kissed her, softly, gently.

It was an innocent kiss. Their mouths remained closed and, except for his hand on her arm, there wasn’t any body contact.

He waited for some hint of what had existed before. A flare of heat, a spark of some uncontrolled need. But there wasn’t any of that. Kissing Brenna felt—

Hot, thick, and heavy desire slammed into him. He nearly staggered from the impact of the blow. A hunger so deep it gnawed down to his soul grew exponentially until it threatened his ability to maintain control. Aching need exploded, blocking out every thought, rational or not. He wanted with a fury that left him barely standing.

He parted his lips and deepened the kiss. For a nanosecond he thought she wouldn’t respond, that he would be forced to take what he needed more than his next breath. But then she moved against him and her mouth opened. His tongue brushed against the sweetness of her lower lip before slipping inside.

She welcomed him with a hot, aggressive kiss that told him she felt it, too. The taste, the fiery wanting building inside of him, the pressure of her body against him, were all familiar. Passion spiraled between them, as it always had—frantic, desperate, amazing. She clung to him, straining to get closer. He rested his hands on her back and explored her from shoulders to hips, relearning her body. At the second he dropped his hands to the curve of her rear, she flexed forward, bringing her belly in contact with his erection.

His first thought was that they could do it on one of the chairs. He would sit down and she would straddle him. They’d done it that way before, and if his memory was anything to go by, it had worked like a charm. His second thought was that if she kept rubbing against him, he was going to lose it right there—something he hadn’t done since he was about fourteen. His third thought was what the hell was he thinking?

Brenna pulled back at the exact second he released her. They were both breathing hard. He didn’t doubt that the fire flaring in her eyes matched the heat in his own. Her gaze dropped from his mouth to his hard-on, then made a quick return trip. She half turned away and cleared her throat.

Nic found himself both aroused and furious. Not the safest combination. He knew why he wanted her, but he didn’t want to think about why he was pissed off. The anger surprised him. He didn’t want to know what it meant, so he ignored it.

“I should go,” he said abruptly.

Brenna nodded without looking at him.

Nic headed for the door, then hesitated. He wanted to say something, but right now there weren’t any words. He swore under his breath and walked into the night.

The hours after midnight had turned cold. He waited for the decrease in temperature to do something to ease his arousal, but blood continued to pulse painfully in time with his rapid heartbeat.

Okay, the passion shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. It had always been there between them. As long as he was aware it was a possibility, he could control it. Would control it. Tonight he’d been caught off guard, but that wouldn’t happen again. The anger was something else, though. He should be over the past. He wouldn’t let it control him. Not ever.

As he walked to the house, he reminded himself that he had a plan. That’s all this was. Playing with Brenna was a side benefit. He wouldn’t let it be more. He wouldn’t let her matter. Not again.

7

Why had Nic kissed her?

As the question passed through her brain for the four thousandth time that day, Brenna found herself no closer to an answer. She didn’t know why he’d kissed her, and she sure didn’t know why she’d let him. It had been stupid. He was her…She hesitated. Not business partner, but something. The man had loaned her a lot of money. She shouldn’t go around kissing him. Their relationship had to be strictly business. Actually, in the best of all worlds they wouldn’t have a relationship at all. They would nod as they passed each other at the grocery store, nothing more.

But last night she’d done a lot more than nod. If she hadn’t come to her senses when she did, she probably would have been ripping off her clothes and begging him to take her.

She crossed to the large fermenting vat in the main building of the Marcelli Winery and checked the temperature of the pale liquid inside. After noting the number on her clipboard, she walked to the next vat.

It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. It couldn’t. She and Nic were old news. Last night had been…a warning, she decided. That was it. He’d kissed her, she kissed him back, and that was certainly something they couldn’t do. Not if she was going to stay sane, not to mention safe. As far as she was concerned, Nic Giovanni was still dangerous. Pathetic, but true. She would avoid him and thereby avoid the problem. And should she find herself in his company—because she was spending a lot of time at his place—she would treat him like a co-worker. There would be no intimate conversations, no lip locking of any kind, and certainly no naked body parts pressing and slipping together in a way designed to make both people feel as if their entire—

“Snap out of it,” she muttered as she walked to the next vat. “Work. Concentrate on work.”

Easier said than done when the yeasty smell filling the room reminded her of making love with Nic. She sighed. Why couldn’t he have been a car mechanic? Then they could have made love in an auto shop instead of a winery. She could easily go the rest of her life without smelling motor oil. Wine and wine-making scents, on the other hand, were impossible to avoid.

So why had he kissed her?

Brenna nearly screamed out loud when she realized she’d mentally circled around to the damn kiss again.

“Brenna? Are you in here?”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

A distraction, she thought. That was something.

She wove her way through the massive vats toward the door. Grandpa Lorenzo stood just inside the fermentation room. He held several sheets of paper in his hand. She recognized the brightly colored logo in the top corner and felt her need to scream increase. Judging from the look on the elder Marcelli’s face, this wasn’t going to go well.

“I have the new label designs,” he said when she stopped in front of him. “For the Reserve Chardonnay.”

She clutched her clipboard to her chest and vowed she would not react, no matter what he said.

Despite his seventy-plus years, her grandfather stood straight and tall, several inches taller than she. He might have gray in his hair, but his dark eyes were still young and expressive. They could flash with anger and disapproval. Gee, they were doing it right now. She braced herself for the complaint.

“What is this?” he asked, holding up the first design. “A horse? A goat? We now have animals on our labels?”

Abstract designs in cool colors swirled together in the center of the label, before bleeding out into the mossy green of the border.

“It’s not a goat,” she said. “It’s not anything. Just colors and shapes together.”

He turned the paper around so he could squint at it, then shook his head. “No goats.”